When political son & political father suddenly unsheathe their swords publicly, you don’t call it disagreement anymore. You call it what it truly is, civil war within the empire.
And somewhere in Surulere presently, the drums of that war appear to be beating loudly.
On one corner stands Hon. Desmond Elliott, actor, filmmaker, long-time legislator & now apparently self-appointed political gladiator.
On the other side towers the man many consider one of the unquestionable landlords of Lagos politics, Rt. Hon Femi Gbajabiamila, former Speaker, current Chief of Staff, seasoned political chess master & a man whose silence alone can reportedly determine whether political oxygen continues flowing in certain quarters or not.
And now, father & son are seemingly staring at each other across the battlefield over one small but highly treasured political stool: Surulere Constituency I.
Ordinarily, this should have been a simple family conversation.
“Thank you for your service. Kindly drop the microphone.”
But no.
The microphone holder has apparently glued it permanently to his hand.
What should have been a dignified political transition has now begun resembling one of those Nollywood sequels where the apprentice suddenly wakes up one morning & decides he no longer needs the shrine priest that initiated him into the cult.
The irony?
The same political roof under which Hon. Desmond Elliott found shelter for over a decade is the same roof he now appears ready to test with matches & petrol.
This must truly be confidence on steroids.
Because until recently, even political historians in Surulere knew the story clearly: when many resisted Desmond’s political ascension years ago, one man repeatedly stood like a human shield before him, Gbaja.
When doubters spoke, Gbaja answered.
When opponents moved, Gbaja neutralized.
When structures shook, Gbaja reinforced.
Political adoption papers were practically stamped & laminated.
And the arrangement worked beautifully.
3 uninterrupted terms.
12 solid years.
Visibility. Influence. Relevance.
From movie scripts to legislative scripts.
A remarkable transition indeed.
But somewhere between term 3 & the dream of term 4, something appears to have snapped dramatically.
Now the political father has reportedly looked at the once obedient son & declared in unmistakable political dialect:
“O to ge.”
Translation?
“My son, this chair is no longer yours”
And instead of quietly retreating into his still-thriving entertainment empire, taking a strategic break, enjoying celebrity status & perhaps waiting patiently for another opening, the political son has reportedly chosen warfare instead.
Not against ordinary ward opponents.
Not against social media critics.
But against the very cathedral that housed his political destiny.
This is where the satire begins writing itself.
Because in Lagos politics, fighting your benefactor is one thing.
Fighting the structure behind your benefactor is another entirely.
That is no longer rebellion.
That starts looking suspiciously like political karaoke at your own funeral reception.
Especially when the same structure has now reportedly moved support toward another aspirant, Barakat Odunuga-Bakare, a move interpreted in many quarters not merely as replacement, but as a carefully worded retirement letter with official stamps & signatures attached.
Yet the actor-turned-lawmaker appears determined to audition for one final lead role:
“The Man Who Challenged The gods.”
A risky screenplay.
Very risky.
Because history within the ruling establishment has never exactly been kind to political children who suddenly develop revolutionary muscles after years of institutional feeding.
The establishment usually smiles 1st.
Then watches quietly.
Then adjusts one or two invisible screws beneath the stage.
And suddenly the microphone stops working.
What makes the unfolding drama even more fascinating is that Hon. Elliott is not exactly a political orphan. He entered politics already famous, already recognizable, already beloved by many television audiences.
But politics, unlike cinema, has cruel editing rooms.
In movies, the underdog can slap the king & inspirational music starts playing in the background.
In real politics, the underdog slaps the king & suddenly realizes the palace controls the soundtrack, the cameras, the lighting, the crowd & sometimes even the ending credits.
Still, the determination appears total.
Supporters of the embattled lawmaker insist he deserves another term, arguing that there is no constitutional limit preventing legislators from contesting repeatedly as long as voters still want them. Fair point.
Critics however whisper something far more dangerous in political circles:
“When your political landlord starts asking for the house keys back, arguing tenancy law may not save you.”
And perhaps the most delicate layer of all this is the unavoidable shadow hovering quietly behind the entire drama, the larger political empire itself.
Because when the current Chief of Staff to the President is involved, observers naturally begin connecting dots toward the throne at the very top of the ruling structure.
Which raises the unspoken question many fear to ask loudly:
Is this merely a constituency battle?
Or has a political minion accidentally mistaken proximity to power for ownership of power?
That distinction has buried many careers before now.
Very many.
At the end of the day, perhaps this entire episode may simply become another classic Lagos political proverb:
“The chick that borrowed confidence from the eagle eventually forgot the sky still belongs to the eagle.”
Hon. Desmond Elliott…
Actor.
Honourable member.
Current political stuntman.
But in this latest production titled Battle Against The Pillars, one frightening question hangs heavily in the air:
Who exactly survives when a political candle declares war against the wind?
